There Are Other Fishies In The Sea
by CorinaJBlack
Summary: "Baby you're watching a Spanish soap opera," she informed him. Mark rubbed his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I didn't notice." "Okay, that's it." Joanne gently took the ice cream from him and sat down next to him on the couch. "Spill, scarf boy." NOT Mark/Joanne. Ew.


AN: post-RENT

* * *

The door of the loft squeaked open. Joanne had rung the bell twice and waited for over five minutes. (She was a patient person). Roger had promised that he would be home. Now she dug out her emergency key. Maybe she was being paranoid, but it didn't hurt to peek in. She'd just leave _Interview With The Vampire _on the table.

"Hello? Mark, Roger?" Joanne set the borrowed movie on the table and peered around the loft. Sitting on the couch with a tub of ice cream between his knees, wrapped in a quilt, was Mark. The TV was on, but he probably wasn't paying attention.

"Mark, honey, what's wrong?" She walked over to her sniffling friend and put her hand on his forehead. Not sick, so what? She looked at the flickering, crappy TV.

"Baby you're watching a Spanish soap opera," she informed him.

"Oh," Mark rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. "Oh, yeah. I didn't notice."

"Okay, that's it." Joanne gently took the ice cream from him and sat down next to him on the couch. "Spill, scarf boy."

"Spill what? There's nothing going on. And even if there was, I should inform you that I have resolved to no longer answer to 'scarf boy'."

"Mark." Joanne got that warning look in her eye. Her cell phone vibrated in her bag. She fished it out and answered.

"Pookie!" Maureen.

"Hi, honey," Joanne smiled, knowing that Maureen could hear it in her voice. "What's up?"

"I woke up and you were gone," Maureen pouted. "Where are you?"

"I went to the loft to return the movie. It was Roger's."

"Well come _baack_."

"I'll talk to you later, Honeybear. Promise."

Joanne hung up. Mark was giving her a look. "What?"

He let out a melodramatic sigh. "_Nothing._" He plopped onto his side on the couch.

"You know I can't just leave you like this," Joanne groaned, for she wanted to return to Maureen too. But evidently, although he pretended to deny it, Mark needed her at the moment. He was watching sad TV shows, curled up on his couch on a warm spring day with a tub of ice cream.

Then it clicked.

"Did you and Leah break up?"

Mark's face was buried in a blanket. He groaned that, in some pathetic language, must have meant "Yes, and I am handling it oh-so-maturely."

"Oh, no. Mark." Joanne patted his shoulder. Mark and Leah Haven had had such a great thing going for almost three weeks. What had happened? Joanne hated this post-breakup Mark. Joanne tried to decide between nice, supportive friend and mean "you'll get over it" friend. She decided with a small mental groan. "Do you want to talk about it, Marky?"

"Noot reallyy," the muffled blanket voice said.

"Okay, that's it." Time to get pushy. "Up!" she said as if commanding a dog.

"Why?"

"Because we're going out and we are going to find you a date for Roger's concert tonight."

"Nooo."

"Up, scarf boy. Now!"

Surprisingly, Mark heaved himself up, still wrapped tightly in his quilt, and accidentally sat on the remote. The CD player was turned on. Sad guitar music blasted throughout the loft.

"Shit!" Joanne seized the remote and fumbled with the buttons, her ears bombarded by horribly loud music. She finally got the off switch to work and the room went silent. "What was that?"

"It helps my heart get better," Mark said in a small voice.

Joanne ruffled his hair. "Honey, you know this is why some people think you're gay." He continued to pout, not dignifying her with a response. "Okay. Get up."

He obliged sulkily. "Now what?"

She looked him over. "Go take a shower. No girl is gonna like you if you're all ice cream sticky."

Mark's mouth twitched with a smile. "You'd think so, but you'd be surprised." He turned, quilt and all, and headed to the bathroom, looking like he felt better.

Joanne snorted. "Just get a move on, scarf boy," she called after him.

"Don't call me that!" he retorted over his shoulder. Joanne stuck her tongue out and knew that, somehow, Mark was going to be okay.


End file.
